


30 Day OTP Challenge: Alexia Ashford/Alfred Ashford

by BeastOfTheSea



Category: Biohazard | Resident Evil (Gameverse)
Genre: 30 Day OTP Challenge, Alternate Universe, And as one is better for a prompt than the other, As the spirit moves me, Canon Compliant, F/M, Twincest
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-06-03
Updated: 2013-07-04
Packaged: 2017-12-13 21:08:24
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 12
Words: 5,724
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/828910
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BeastOfTheSea/pseuds/BeastOfTheSea
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p><a href="http://30dayotpchallenge.deviantart.com/journal/30-Day-OTP-Challenge-LIST-325248585">For these prompts.</a> Individual prompt-responses will range from gen to actual romance.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. 01 - Holding Hands

She raised her head, blinking, then squinted down at the papers. Ah, yes… The T-Veronica results from her otherwise useless father. Despite her best efforts, she found herself incapable of reducing the maturation time below a certain obviously-infeasible – 

Lifting her right hand to rub her eyes, she found that something was weighting it down; she looked over to find her brother collapsed over the desk beside her, his fingers loosely linked with hers. Had he stayed up with her all night? Apparently.

Not that he had been capable of contributing anything but moral support, but even so…

She tried to slide her hand out from under his, but his grip sleepily tightened; giving up with a sigh, she turned back to her notes and began rifling through the data. It was unimportant, anyway. This would prove useful for practicing ambidexterity.

After pulling out the data sheets relevant to T-Veronica’s propagation rate and pushing the other papers to the side, she settled down to examining the figures for what seemed like the fiftieth time, her free hand reaching over and stroking her sleeping brother’s hair.

Silly boy…


	2. 02 - Cuddling Somewhere

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Er... I may have missed the point of the prompt...
> 
> (AU for this chapter.)

Consciousness returned in foggy, water-splotched patches. He opened his eyes halfway, then blinked once. “What…”

A hand ran through his hair, and he looked up into the face of a goddess. For one wild moment, he thought he’d finally settled his debate with Alexia over the afterlife– and then he snapped back to reality, and it occurred to him that he wasn’t in Valhalla. He reached up – seeing something green and warped out of the edge of his vision – and raised a shaking hand to her face, but broke down in tears before he could make it. “I – Alexi-”

She gathered him to her chest and let him sob into her shoulder, allowing him to taint her perfect flesh with tears and mucus. He should have restrained himself, but – he just _couldn’t_ –

She patted his head gently, as if in reassurance, and he sobbed harder. It wasn’t befitting of the dignity of the Ashford family – he should have kept a stiff upper lip – but after _fifteen years_ and all his loneliness and insanity, he couldn’t believe…

Regaining control of himself – or running out of tears – some long stretch of time later, he sniffled and looked up into her face again. “Oh, I _missed_ you,” he croaked out miserably.

She nodded, her face solemn, and smoothed back his hair from his forehead. “You did what was required of you, brother.”

He made a choked sound at the back of his throat and wiped his nose and eyes off on his sleeve – as best he could, at any rate, since the sleeve was dripping with some clear fluid that wasn’t quite water – before burying his face in the crook of her neck.  She turned her head and kissed him lightly.

“You will never be alone again.”


	3. 03 - Gaming/watching a movie

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In which Alfred completely misses the point of the film he just watched.

“And how is the movie, brother?” Alexia asked as she passed through the projector room. Alfred looked up and pointed at the screen. 

“Ah – it’s over, Alexia.” She nodded and began to go on her way. “It had a happy ending, however!"

“Indeed?”

“Yes – very tense, there, I thought they were actually going to have that horrible American kill poor Damien! But the policemen got there and shot him, so Damien will be absolutely fine.” Alfred turned around and draped his arm over the back of the couch. “They had some marvelous death scenes, too – Are you sure you don’t want to watch? I loved the variety.”

Alexia paused, then came over to the couch and sat down beside him. “Just a moment,” Alfred said with a frown, “I have to rewind.” He punched the button, and the film began zooming backwards before the screen winked out.

“It’s no fun if you know what’s coming,” he said cheerfully, smiling at her as the whirring sound continued. “We can talk about it a bit while we wait – I think my favorite character was Mrs. Baylock. Very protective, very loyal – she knew Damien was more important than her own life –”

“You said it would be no fun if I knew what was coming, brother.”

“Oh. Er, right.”


	4. 04 - On A Date

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is AU - basically assume Alexia never experimented upon herself in this timeline.   
> Slight warning for mentions of sadism.

“The scenery _is_ nice,” Alfred chirped, trying to keep the frozen smile from falling off his face. There was no response. “And my, what lovely weather!”

Alexia continued to regard him with an unamused expression as she stored the makeshift napalm in their pack. “Almost _completely_ the opposite of the Antarctic –”

“Brother,” she said. “How did you manage to schedule our vacation for the _exact_ time and location of a major T-Virus outbreak?”

To buy time, Alfred looked down and resumed scrubbing the remains of zombies and monsters off of his weaponry. “Alexia, I couldn’t have _known_ this would occur,” he said in a voice that sounded whiny even to his own ears; involuntarily, he cringed. “I… just wanted us to have a pleasant vacation somewhere with a tremendous amount of sunlight and greenery –” On second thought, it was a bad idea to mention that after the giant plants through which he’d had to hack. “I mean, I thought we should unwind,” he added hastily. “You agreed to that! How was I to know that an epidemic was imminent?”

Alexia’s expression remained unchanged, and he reflected that, although it was sheer bad luck, he had always possessed an extraordinary talent for stumbling into misfortune. Not that it was _entirely_ his fault… Alexander had probably botched something during his creation, that career incompetent… but… Well, he understood Alexia’s feelings on the matter…

“You enjoyed the death of the mutated snake, didn’t you?” he asked, trying to steer the conversation back onto a pleasant route. “It thrashed around for such a _long_ time before dying…” He tittered behind his hand, then suppressed a flinch as he noticed the blood – not his own – on it. At least the experimental T-Virus vaccine seemed to be holding; they’d been present at ground zero of the outbreak for several hours and displayed no symptoms so far. “And then, of course,” he said, trying to regain his confidence, “there was our execution of the half-developed Tyrant…”

Her expression changing to one of interest, Alexia nodded along, a slight smile gracing her lips. “Wasn’t that fun?” he breathed. Terrifying, of course, until the battle had shifted in their favor – but pure enjoyment after that. And by the time they were done with it, there was absolutely no chance of it coming after them later – not unless it cared to regenerate its limbs as well as its vitals. “You see? We can still… _enjoy_ ourselves on this little excursion. So long as we find all the ammunition caches in the local Umbrella base, everything should go wonderfully.”

She raised an eyebrow, but took the hand which he extended to her as he stood. “If that’s so – then let us go, brother.”

“It will, Alexia,” he promised. “I _swear_ it will.”


	5. 05 - Kissing

“Ugh. What were you thinking?”

Alfred winced as Alexia wiped at her face with a handkerchief. “Well – ah – a book that I read mentioned kissing with tongues –”

“With tongues?”

“With – er – one person’s tongue in the other’s mouth and vice-versa,” he clarified. “So I thought… perhaps we would like it…”

“It sounds like an excellent method for disease transmission.” Alexia made a face. “In which book did you read this, brother?”

“A history book about Anne Boleyn – I was reading the part about the charges against her, and it said that she ‘tempted her brother with her tongue in his mouth and his tongue in hers’.” Alfred looked down, fingering his cufflinks. “And I thought… if she ‘tempted’ him, it must have been enjoyable, mustn’t it? So…”

She shrugged. “All the charges were invented – you know that, brother. They have no meaning.”

Alfred frowned. “I don’t think so,” he mumbled.

“Or, perhaps, it’s only enjoyable for adults. We are still young.”

Alfred continued to stare down at his sleeves, and Alexia shook her head. “We can try again when we’re older, if it’s your desire, but the normal way is enough for now.” Tipping his head up to look at her, she smiled at him, and he found his sulk dissolving away. He smiled back, and, in unison, they began to lean forw–

The revolving door swung around, and Alfred sat bolt upright, his heart hammering in his chest; he stared with wide eyes, his breath coming in short pants, as their father scowled at them. “What are you two doing?” the man demanded. “Every time I’ve seen you for the last week, you’ve been huddled together, whispering and conspiring about – whatever children conspire about. How to get more sweets from the kitchen, I suppose!”

“I have no concern for such trivialities,” Alexia said flatly from beside Alfred, her face a mask of indignation. The man waved dismissively at her – dismissively, as though her intellect didn’t dwarf his as a battleship did a leaky fishing boat. Dismissively, as though he truly _deserved_ the title of head of the Ashford family instead of that of the man who had made it a laughingstock. Dismissively, as though he actually did regard her as nothing more than a mere creation bound forever to serve his goals –

Alfred’s shock and panic burnt to ashes beneath the flames of rage, and it took all his willpower to resist hurling himself at Alexander and savaging him like the peasant he was – in spirit, at least, if not by birth. Alexia put a hand on his arm, squeezing harder than might have been apparent at first glance, and kept it there as Alexander continued, “I have no idea why you bother with your brother, then. His only interest these days seems to be distracting you from your work, and he’s no great intellect. I can’t imagine he can produce anything that would interest you for long.”

The grinding of his teeth must have been audible to that hateful incompetent. What of the truth of their origins? Did Alexander fathom that such knowledge could _interest_ Alexia _for long_? “I can imagine that you can’t imagine,” Alexia said coldly. In the small part of Alfred’s mind not currently imagining how that man’s blood would look as it made a horrid mess all over the expensive carpeting, he cheered her onward; Alexander flinched, anger flashing across his face.

“Get back to work this instant,” he snarled, “or I swear by Veronica that I will drag you out by your arm, and the humiliation will be on your head.”

“I will resume work shortly – after I finish my discussion with my brother.” Alexia’s hand maintained a painful grip on Alfred’s arm, warning him against so much as speaking up against the imbecile known as their father.

Alexander’s resolve wavered – it always did, the man knew better than to push the sole salvation of the Ashford family too far. “Ten minutes!”

“With ease.” Alexia watched him until, muttering vulgarities, he turned and exited through the door, looking as though he was trying his hardest to slam a spinning stone slab.

“I _hate_ him,” Alfred hissed into Alexia’s ear the moment he was out of sight. “I – _hate_ – him.”

“The experiment will be ready within the week,” she whispered back. “From that point on, his only importance to the Ashford family will be that of a test subject.”

“I hope he suffers,” he spat.

“My calculations would seem to indicate that he will, and thoroughly so,” she said with a smile, and kissed him on the cheek before pushing herself off the bed and standing up. “Farewell, brother.”

He seized her hand quickly, before she could leave, and kissed it. “Goodbye, Alexia.”

Her forehead creased in thought for a moment, her gaze straying to the side as she worked through some rapid calculation in her mind; just before she exited the bedroom, she held up three fingers, waving them about so he would take notice. He blinked twice, and then nodded, his face splitting in a bestial grin.

_Three days_.

Oh, the seventh of March _could not come soon enough_.


	6. 06 – Wearing each other’s clothes

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Goes almost without saying that this is an AU where Alexia awoke early.

Alexia regarded herself in the mirror. “A fetching uniform, brother.”

Beside her, her brother hunched his shoulders, trying to avoid even the slightest glimpse of his own makeup-covered reflection. “It looks wonderful on you, Alexia, but…”

She dismissed him with a gesture, inspecting the gold-embroidered shoulder pads and the medal attached to the left breast of his – now her – officer’s jacket. Her brother did have good, albeit eccentric, taste in clothing. “We do resemble each other, do we not? Just as we did when we were children.”

“Oh, you flatter me.”

“Surely you notice the resemblance? With that wig, you looked almost exactly as I do now.”

Her brother stared down at his well-manicured hands. “You are much too kind, Alexia, but…”

“Yes?”

“Would you… please give me back my clothes? I am _truly_ sorry about not being there to greet you, but you must understand, I wasn’t in my right mind –”

“Silence, brother.” She slicked her hair back from her forehead and inspected her face carefully. Yes, with merely a more angular jaw and slightly more bony features… “You will have them back when I am done with them, and not a moment sooner.”

“If you _insist_ , Alexia…”


	7. 07 - Cosplay

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> No-Umbrella AU.
> 
> Also known as "Behold, the Ashfords are ASOIAF fans."

“Yes, we’re supposed to be Jaime and Cersei Lannister,” the man in the medieval-soldier costume said, wrapping an arm affectionately around the woman beside him, who was dressed as a queen and kept glancing at the other con-goers with blatant contempt. It didn’t look like she was doing it to be in-character. “Aren’t we _marvelous_?”

Claire, dressed as her regular self, rolled her eyes in disgust. “Do you _have_ to play to the incest part of it? Making out for that cheering bunch of creeps… I mean, you guys probably think that incest stuff is _oh-em-gee! sooo_ kinky _!_ but some of us actually _have_ siblings, and it. Just. Grosses. Us. Out.”

For some reason, that made the man burst into a fit of breathy titters. The woman only condescendingly smirked down at Claire as she reached over to caress her companion’s face. “Little girl, we _are_ twins.”

“What?”

The man giggled again. “Oh, you didn’t guess? Everyone’s _always_ remarking upon how similar Alexia and I look…” He drew closer to the woman, shooting one last sneer at Claire before staring deep into his companion’s eyes. “And we have _so_ much in common with the Lannisters–”

Claire suppressed a dry heave as the two creepy cosplayers began outdoing even the show they’d done for that bunch of “twincest” fetishists. They had to be joking! Maybe they were just some of those weirdos who over-identified as their characters, and they weren’t _really_ siblings – But they _did_ have similar bone structures, upon second thought, and, all make-up aside, they _did_ look an unfortunate amount like male-and-female versions of each other – She and Chris didn’t look that alike! Maybe they actually were… Good grief… What sort of siblings would be _sick_ enough to –

“Hey, that’s _gross!_ ” Alexia and her apparent brother broke off from their passionate embrace to glare at Steve, who had just broken through the crowd to come marching up to Claire. “I heard what you guys said! And Claire’s right, that’s just–”

“He sounds like a rat with a head cold,” Alexia’s brother whispered none-too-quietly in her ear.

“I know, brother,” Alexia whispered back with obvious displeasure. “And what _is_ that supposed to be? Does he think he has the physique for the Hulk?”

“Perhaps he’s supposed to be her knight in shining armor.” The man tittered. “But he’s simply _green_ with envy of me.”

“I’m not envious of you at all, you screeching freak!” Steve snapped, his (indeed nasal) Canadian accent thickening. “And I’m not jealous of your stuck-up bitch of a sister, either!”

Face flushed with fury, the man whirled and rushed Steve, but those high-school karate classes paid off; within seconds, his aristocratic face was smushed against a passing fursuiter’s paws. Not a quick learner, he broke the hold and went for Steve again, but Claire piled on, and by the time he was restrained, he had one hand weakly pressed to a rapidly bruising spot on his forehead and the other clamped over his nose, blood leaking between his fingers. Claire and Steve briefly grinned at each other, relieved to have taken down the psycho –

And two gloved hands grabbed them by their necks with surprising strength and rammed their heads together, and everything went a fuzzy, spotty shade of off-grey.

By the time Claire’s brother, who just so happened to be a security guard at the con, intervened, Steve had to be hauled into the local hospital for cracked ribs (and seemed to be under the impression that he was dying tragically), Claire suffered balance issues and vomiting from a concussion for several hours afterward, and Alexia’s brother wound up spending a few nights in medical care himself due to blood loss (courtesy of, as it turned out, a mild form of hemophilia). Alexia suffered the least injuries, as she had surrendered immediately when someone toting an actual gun came along. It went without saying that the siblings in question wound up banned, or close to it, from the rest of the con… and that they weren’t too happy about it.

“Be sure to tell me when you and Redfield tie the knot, and I’ll show you a Red Wedding!” Alexia’s brother spat from the next hospital bed over; his sister began firmly lecturing him on the importance of keeping his blood pressure down. Claire only flipped him the bird and went back to watching over Steve.

“Claire… I have a confession to make…” Steve gasped dramatically. “I… lo…”

“You’re not going to die, Steve. Cut it out already.”

Steve sighed. “If you say so, Claire.” Then, he suddenly blinked, lifting his head and looking over at the twins. “Is she singing a _nursery rhyme_ to him?”

“Yes, she is, but –”

“Um… between you and me, she’s not very… Uh, what I mean is, she’s got a nice voice and all, but when it comes to a tune, do you think anyone ever told her to take singing less-”

“ _Not now, Steve, not now!_ ”


	8. 08 - Shopping

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> /AU/ Takes place in an AU where Umbrella was uncovered and collapsed much earlier.
> 
> (Not any shipping here, sadly. Next chapter...)

“We _did_ deliver the drugs that you requested!”

Javier shook his head as one of his underlings slapped the pale-faced gang leader; the young man’s shriek of pain was too high-pitched to have any business coming out of someone with balls. “This isn’t about the drugs,” he said, smirking at them over his sunglasses. “I have a little proposal for you.”

“And you needed these _brutes_ to ensure we’d play along?”

“Just to add a little… _spice_ to the proceedings, my friend.” It also prevented the boy’s own “brutes” from staging an ambush in their leader’s favor. Enough bothering with him, however – Javier had someone more important to which to speak.

Leaning on the railing at the edge of the warehouse’s elevated walkway, he gestured to the girl beside the boy. “Little birdies tell me you’re the true power here. Is that so?”

A few of his men let out disbelieving laughs, which turned appalled when she nodded. “And what do you do to earn it?” As one of his men began to blurt out a crude remark, he made a sharp slashing gesture; if she was all he had heard she was, he could not afford her hatred.

Not for his own sake. For Hilda’s.

“I have been extensively trained in bioweapon development and deployment, with particular emphasis on human subjects. My most recent creation is the drug known as Chivalry –”

Initially ingested for the pleasurable lack of inhibition it brought, Chivalry soon made its users absolutely dependent upon its supply, forcing them either to spend a good portion of their waking hours in the hyper-aggressive and highly-suggestible state it induced or begin to suffer brain degeneration and organ failure. One-time doses could also be used to make non-addicts rather willing to obey any commands given for a few hours, of course – and he suspected that had been the original purpose of its development.

His mole told him that its developer had named it after the medieval ideal, which dictated that knights were to show absolute submission to their royalty and joyfully leap to arms to avenge any slight to their honor. The parts concerning piety, charity, or defending the weak, she had utterly ignored… and though the leader of the Sacred Serpents could hardly speak for himself, it disgusted him that she seemed not even to _understand_ good and evil.

He didn’t need understanding of good and evil, however – he needed understanding of the virus the Umbrella remnants had sold to him, what had gone wrong in Hilda, and, if Manuela also showed signs, how to prevent her from succumbing to the same illness as her mother. And this girl could burn the world for all he cared, if only she could save his family.

“Could you recreate it in our laboratories as proof?”

She nodded. “The weaker forms, with ease. The more potent forms would require a longer interval of time to produce.”

“Good.” He grinned. “In that case, you’ll be treated very well. We give our golden gooses marvelous treatment in the Sacred Serpents.”

And he only had them slit open if they tried to flee.

* * *

While it was pleasant to have the sole source of true Chivalry at his disposal – the two had funded their gang’s expansion with basement-brewed versions of the drug, and he was certain his own operations could put a perfected version to interesting use – it had been more important to prove that the girl was the prodigy the rumors claimed her to be. Another matter that he had not been able to determine from a distance were their true ages; the combination of the high-pitched and baby-faced boy and the… _shapely_ … and mature girl had always confused others as to their ages, particularly as they both claimed to be twins. His doctors’ physical examination of the two, however, had confirmed them to be around sixteen to seventeen years of age – just as he had hoped.

Though they disguised themselves beneath hair dye, disreputable clothing, and a different manner of life, there was little doubt that they were the Umbrella prodigy and her brother who had escaped from custody, never to be seen again, during the company’s legal collapse. Few biomedical prodigies were girls, and even fewer were twins – much less twins within the correct age bracket. And fewer still had the training of which the rumors had spoken even before the girl told him outright, and yet ended up without family and without a home; finally, though it had been circumstantial at best, the accounts he had been able to obtain of the prodigy and her brother described the boy as a charming, dutiful young man at his best, but a whining, arrogant sadist at his worst, and the girl as generally cool, detached, and ruthless.

Five years had changed the twins’ characters not one bit.

The girl stood before him, seeming far more at home in a business dress and a white lab coat than the gaudy wear that had been more appropriate to her current hair colors; her brother, who he had kept occupied elsewhere, had pulled together some atrocious combination of formal wear and an old military uniform, but seemed similarly content. He had instructed his men to make no commentary on their appearances: by all accounts, past and present, the twins took poorly to mockery – often in a fatal manner. Besides, one could hope they reverted to better appearances when left wholly to their own devices.

He cleared his throat. “I’d like to ask you some _little_ questions.”

She nodded.

“How much do you remember of your research on the T-Virus?”

Her eyebrows rose, her head tilted, and she seemed to regard him with _slightly_ more respect. “I recall it as well as if I left the Antarctic base yesterday.”

Time would tell if that was empty bragging. “Could you determine what has gone wrong with a treatment with a derivative of the virus?”

Something resembling a startled expression crossed her face – yes, he _knew_ the T-Virus wasn’t _supposed_ to be used for medical purposes – before she adopted a contemplative look. “Each of the major bases with facilities dedicated to viral research had its own versions of the T-Virus – or, to be more precise, the progenitor virus from which the T-Virus was created. Due to heavy competition, as little data was shared between bases as possible. Depending upon the derivative used, I might be able to determine its properties via analysis, but not know its behavior from memory.”

He inwardly cursed. At least she thought she could reconstruct it, which was more than he could say for any of his other scientists… but would _anything_ go right with this mad scheme? He rued the day he had ever had dealings with Umbrella! “Would its name mean anything to you?”

Her confidence increased. “Yes. Inter-base espionage tended to reveal the codenames and basic traits of any major new strain, though little scientific information of use.”

“The men from whom I purchased the viruses sold me the baseline T-Virus and T-Veronica stra-”

“ _T-Veronica?_ ” she hissed.

Javier raised an eyebrow. “You know the –”

“They sold _T-Veronica_ like a common – How did they access it? Who _gave_ them access? They were _not worthy_ – It was experimental! Who told them it was effective at – How _dare_ they! How _dare_ they!”

As the girl continued to rant, it dawned upon Javier that he had succeeded not just in obtaining one of the former top Umbrella scientists, but the _creator_ of the virus which now coursed through his wife. Of all the fortunate –

He concealed a grin. At last, his shopping spree for Umbrella products had turned in his favor.


	9. 09 - Hanging out with friends

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yes, the ants _are_ their only friends.

“The entire world will be like this when you emerge?” Alfred asked, pressing one hand to the glass wall of the anthill.

Alexia nodded. He turned back to the tank and watched the ants scurry through their tunnels, doubtless carrying miniscule pieces of dragonfly down with them. After all, the queen had to be fed, and they lived for nothing but their queen.

Indistinguishable, incoherent masses… So like peasants, but…

It would be a much more orderly world – ants were industrious and single-minded, and never whined about overtime or their emotional needs. And their loyalty was unquestionable – there would be no more nonsense about traitors, or incompetents like Alexander. With the entire world united under Alexia, there would be no more war, no more purposelessness, and no more irrational waste. There would be scarcely any emotion at all, in fact, save devotion to their goddess’s will.

It would be a perfect world, but what need would it have for him? What was the purpose of a soldier ant’s existence, when its queen could obliterate any threat with scarcely more than a thought?

It was no more his place to question than that of any discarded, useless veteran, thrown onto the streets to starve by the country he’d sworn to protect. By the time the war was won, broken and battered tools had outlived their usefulness.

Like ants, if their owner grew older and tired of them.

He stood with a sigh, missing Alexia’s look of concern. He knew that was how it would have to be, no matter what kind things Alexia said to him.

He just wished he could forget.


	10. 10 - With animal ears

“By Veronica,” Alfred said, picking up one photograph, “is that a baby picture? He _honestly_ put us in _bunny_ costumes?”

Alexia took a moment away from her analysis of their medical records to observe the picture. One infant was happily gumming on the ear of the other infant’s rabbit suit, while its victim aimed an oddly intelligent and disgruntled look at the camera. It took no effort to figure out which infant was which.

“This is humiliating!” Alfred continued, picking up more photographs and rifling through it. “Though – I must say, Alexia, you made for an _adorable_ kitty – oh, look, there’s me as a monkey! And here’s us as pirates – Oh dear, I wonder what I said to make you whack me in the face with your wooden sword? And –”

Their father deserved death for many reasons. Of which this was the least important, admittedly, but still it was a valid one.


	11. 11 - With kigurumis

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [This explains what a kigurumi is.](https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Kigurumi)
> 
> Now visiting a Pokemon AU!

“Hey, Claire,” Steve whispered loudly. “Do you think those guys look like Team Ashford?”

“Don’t be absurd. Do you think Team Ashford would ever dress up in costumes like that?”

“Of course not!” Alfred warbled in a voice even higher than usual. “Why would those dreadful and horribly intimidating criminals _ever_ lower themselves to wear such silly outfits?”

Alexia aimed a murderous look his way before adding in a disturbingly schoolgirlish voice, “An unparalleled genius would know _much_ better than to dress up in poorly-ventilated Pokémon costumes, certainly. She especially would not do so on a hot summer day, nearly getting _heatstroke_ in the process.”

He winced and wished he could throw himself at her feet and grovel for mercy, but he could hardly do such a thing in front of Burnside and the Redfields. Well, at least the Durant costume _did_ look quite fetching on her, with metallic gleams accentuating her… _best assets_ … At any rate, he’d _had_ to make them poorly-ventilated! They had to be form-fitting, and he wasn’t about to expose any skin below the neck and let common _peasants_ feast their eyes upon… Why, it made him murderous just _thinking_ about…

“It is an adorable Butterfree costume,” Claire commented to him. “You really put a lot of detail into the wings, didn’t you?”

He cleared his throat, beaming and adjusting his antennae. “Oh, yes! Though I’m most proud of all the facets on the ey-”

Alexia glared at him and hit the button to clack her costume’s mandibles.

“ _Ahem!_ That _is…_ ” He eyed Burnside’s Pikachu, which looked about as stupid as its owner. Hard to believe the Boss wanted it, but no accounting for taste. (He wasn’t sure Spencer was even a _real_ nobleman, anyway. Didn’t he come from a family of PokéMart entrepreneurs?) “Would you like us to make a costume for your _adorable_ rat?” The three peasants gave him an appalled look; Alexia threw an elbow into his side. “Ack – pfft – I mean your _lovely_ overgrown rodent –” 

“He means we need to see it in order to take its measurements,” Alexia said, extending her hand. “Now, _would you kindly_ give it to me?”

* * *

“Alexia?”

Alexia remained silent, bandaging her scrapes and scratches after yet another failed heist.

“Alexia…”

No response.

“Alexia, do you forgive me?”

No response, but she looked like she was all but strangling her arm with the current roll of bandage.

“Alexia… Do you still love me, at least?” He tried his best to keep the whimper out of his voice, but was unsuccessful.

At last, she sighed, reached over, and patted him on the head.

* * *

_In the future, I will deposit my loyal but inept brother in a PC Box before embarking upon any complicated missions. I have calculated that this will increase my probability of success by at least 300%._

_Q1: Can humans be deposited in PC Boxes?_

_Q2: Why not?_


	12. 12 - Making Out

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Alexia-never-went-into-hibernation AU - takes place in around 2000.

“This was not what I expected to see when I hacked the security cameras,” Birkin groaned as the two blonds thrust their tongues into each other’s mouths, their hands running along each other’s torsos. The woman broke off just long enough to run her hands through the man’s hair and smile at him, and then whirl both of them around and pin him against the wall before resuming their lecherous embrace.

“It seems the rumors about them are true,” Wesker commented, lowering his sunglasses to get a better look at the monitors. “I wonder what their employees would think if they knew.”

“Probably ask to watch,” Birkin snapped, his gaze glued to the screens in horror. “‘Oh, Sir Ashford maintains such excellent discipline on his base!’ ‘Oh, Lady Alexia has such a stunning intellect!’ They’d just follow it up with ‘Oh, Mr. and Ms. Ashford have such amazing sex!’”

“They do seem to be enjoying it.”

“God knows only his sister would sleep with him.” The man reached up the front of the top half of the woman’s dress, licking a trail down her neck as he did so; she moaned as he massaged her breasts, and Birkin averted his eyes. “Damn her, she _is_ enjoying it.”

“You’re not watching?”

“And get _turned on_ by _her_? I’d rather give myself a sex change without anesthetic.” The two onscreen chose that moment to start gasping lines straight out of an incest porno – “brother” was _never_ meant to be said in that tone of voice – and Birkin risked a glimpse back at the screen, clamping his hands over his ears. “Are they going to start stripping down _right there in the hallway_?”

“Perhaps enough money will buy you a personal ‘Don’t Ask, Don’t Tell’ policy from the security guards,” Wesker said, folding up his sunglasses and putting them in his breast pocket. The two of them had momentarily paused, their clothes half-undone, to grope each other; Birkin shut his eyes, turning away and heading out of the room.

“I’m off to take a cold, _cold_ shower. Maybe cryogenic hibernation, if I can’t get the images out of my head.” When he reached the door, he stopped for a few seconds, then cracked open one eye and looked back at Wesker. “Aren’t you coming?”

“There are uglier twins to watch,” Wesker commented, stroking his chin. “Besides, you never know what they might let slip in pillow talk.”

Birkin sputtered, lost for words, then swung out of the room and slammed the door behind him. ‘Practical Al’, sure, but – but – _damn!_

He rubbed his eyes and pinched the bridge of his nose as images flashed back into his mind. Yeah, cryogenic hibernation sounded like a great idea right now. Maybe then morbid curiosity would stop telling him to head back into the monitor room and see it through to the bitter end.

At least, he _hoped_ that was morbid curiosity. He tried to hide from the thought that, perhaps, some small, sick part of him _enjoyed_ that.


End file.
